


A Promise Kept

by AmnesiacFloozy (AlleyCatSunflower)



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Blue Lions Dorothea Arnault, Blue Lions Petra Macneary, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, F/M, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-18 18:28:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29373078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlleyCatSunflower/pseuds/AmnesiacFloozy
Summary: "Daily, I was asking the spirits of Brigid to send you back to me," says Petra, trying to conceal how close she is to tears, but her voice catches and betrays her.For a time, Dedue's eyes burn into Petra, but then he gives a light sigh. "Had I died, they could not have done so."Petra shakes her head, keeping her gaze fixed on the fire. "Our lives are intertwined with all things. After death, the body becomes the earth, and the soul becomes all else belonging to nature. I was looking for you in other forms." She braves a smile. "But the spirits of Brigid were not sending you to me as wind or flower. The gods of Duscur were sending you to me, alive."
Relationships: Petra Macneary & Dedue Molinaro, Petra Macneary/Dedue Molinaro
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	A Promise Kept

**Author's Note:**

> Because, not only am I mad that Dedue/Petra isn't a canon possibility, but I'm also mad that Dedue's miraculous survival (assuming paralogue completion) received little to no attention in-game. Like, someone you thought died five years ago just showed up and helped you win the day! Show a little emotion!

The spirits of Brigid did not live in the cathedral of Garreg Mach, but Petra could think of no better place to pray.

Once she returned to the monastery, she prayed to many spirits for many things. She prayed that the Professor could guide Dimitri safely out of madness, far from his path of violence. She prayed for their small army and the knights within it, fighting for justice, belief unwavering: for Ashe, for Ingrid, even for Sylvain and Felix. She prayed for their next victory, to secure the Great Myrddin Bridge.

And she prayed for the soul of Dedue.

Petra had felt his absence keenly, that fateful day. She had undertaken her journey to Garreg Mach in secret, in defiance of her grandfather's wishes to stay safe beside him. But she could not betray her oath of friendship and unity, and in the chaos of battle as she arrived on the promised night, she had known only that she was surrounded by her old allies. But after that, seeing that Dedue was missing from among them—and seeing how far Dimitri had fallen without him—Petra's heart had beaten hollow.

She had not realized until that moment how tightly she had held onto the foolish hope that all of them would reunite that night.

Many times after that, Petra asked her aching heart why _his_ loss affected it so deeply. It was true that Dedue was one of her first friends at the academy, bonding over their status as outsiders to the culture of Fódlan, but it was not as though she did not have other friends. Dorothea had eventually followed her into the Blue Lions as well, and between her comforting presence and that of Mercedes, Petra had never felt more supported.

It was just that… something was missing. Even five years after Dedue's passing, and months after she had learned of his death, Petra's heart still mourned him, the man who found his faith in flowers and sunlight rather than the stone of the church. Like her, he was on his own, far from a home now all but lost. Perhaps he no longer felt as lonely, joined with his own people in death, but Petra felt all the lonelier.

On the eve of their departure for the Great Bridge of Myrddin, Petra could not sleep. She walked to the half-ruined cathedral, giving herself over to praying in the darkness and quiet, sending her wishes to nameless spirits and faceless deities. For, if the spirits of Brigid would not send her a fragment of Dedue's soul—proof that some part of him had reunited with them after all—perhaps she should address her prayers to the gods of Duscur as well.

Dedue's gods must have been listening, because they brought him back.

The battle was a difficult one, not least since Petra had to face… _kill_ … an old ally. Petra had not stayed long in the Black Eagles, but she was on good terms with most of them. Ferdinand was no exception; Ferdinand, too lightly armored, into whose side she shot an arrow. She was close enough to see his surprise, see him struggle for breath in the moments before Dimitri's lance pierced his heart, taking him off his horse, and stopped it forever.

Petra had thought she was better than this, but she could not take her eyes off Ferdinand's body as Dimitri pulled his lance from his heart, and left herself open. As she turned, she found another mounted knight galloping forward, brandishing his lance, bellowing something about a Brigid savage—Petra barely recognized Lorenz, his face twisted with fury and scorn—

Someone cut down the horse before her, and buried an axe so deep into the rider's shoulder it must have hit his heart. Both dissonant screams echoed in her ears in the instant before they were silenced, the horse with some hasty magic from Mercedes, the rider with a strike of lightning from Felix's sword. But any horror Petra felt was driven from her mind when she recognized that the one who had saved her was _Dedue_.

"Petra?" asks Annette's voice, and Petra comes back to herself with difficulty.

She sits in camp, staring into her cup of tea, and glances up with an attempt at a smile. "I am feeling fine," says Petra, her voice distant even to her own ears. 'Fine' is something of an overstatement, far from expressing the turmoil and torment in her heart, but she was not good friends with either one of the casualties they knew personally. Still, for all her preparations and attempts to steel herself, she was less prepared for this eventuality than she thought.

Annette must be able to see that, but still gives Petra a quick smile before returning to her seat beside Ashe. As soon as she turns away, Petra takes a breath, glancing along the table. They do not have enough resources to hold a feast in Dedue's honor yet, but it has been promised that there will be a celebration when they arrive at Garreg Mach, and in the meantime, they can at least eat their ordinary meal all together.

(Or, mostly together. Dorothea has scarcely spoken a word since the battle, and is now in her tent with Mercedes in close attendance.)

Glancing along the table, Petra finds Dedue sitting at Dimitri's right hand, and realizes with a jolt that she has offered no gratitude to the gods of Duscur for his safe return… or to Dedue himself, for saving her. In her mother tongue, she whispers an apology to the spirits of Brigid—hoping that encapsulates his gods as well—and listens.

At first, Petra imagined that she must be dead or dreaming, or that a spirit assumed a familiar form to save her. But Dedue has neither vanished nor changed since the battle, and his story is one that makes sense. To hear him tell it, the day he rescued Dimitri and went to die in his place, other men of Duscur saved him. He spent these last years in hiding, recovering from his wounds, biding his time as he waited for a chance to join a more unified Kingdom army.

Petra wishes to thank Dedue for saving her, but she does not wish to draw attention to herself when she feels so fragile, much less interrupt the flow of conversation. But as soon as they finish eating, the Professor escorts Dimitri and Dedue away as the others keep themselves distracted, and Petra does not have the chance to say anything before the three of them disappear into their tent.

So Petra walks over to the Professor's tent and waits just outside, trying not to listen in on business that isn't hers.

Talk goes on for a long time, progress of the war and strategies for the future, until it all becomes a jumble of words in a language Petra has once again half forgotten how to speak. Though the night is cold, and getting colder, Petra refuses to go back to her tent, or even to wait by the fire. It is important that she greet Dedue, and thank him personally.

"Petra," says Dedue, and Petra starts, glancing up to find that he has emerged from the tent. She must have lost track of time, staring off into space and trying not to think of the battle today, or the battles to come. "What are you doing here?"

As Petra gazes up at him, towering over her, more than just the evening chill stings her eyes. Though she has been listening to his voice for some time, vaguely, to hear him speaking to her directly again touches her heart. "I was waiting for you." Not just tonight, but for five years and then some.

"You must be cold," says Dedue, his tone one of concern, and gestures for Petra to follow him. "Let us sit by the fire."

Petra nods, glad that he offers to stay with her, and gets up, stretching as she realizes that her body has grown stiff. In the meantime, Dedue walks over to the campfire and says a few words to the watch, who nods and departs. As Petra approaches, Dedue settles on a log and stares into the flames, and Petra seats herself on the opposite end of it.

For a time, there is silence. Petra wishes to observe Dedue, and does so, the firelight flickering across his features. There are many scars and markings that were not there before, and they speak more of the last five years than Petra can bear to ask. His is a face aged from experience; even considering the time they spent apart, he looks much older than he should.

But this is all secondary to her thanks. "I have gratitude," says Petra, dipping her head to Dedue, and he turns to look at her. "You were saving me, in that battle."

Dedue shakes his head. "I saw that you were in danger, and intervened. It was nothing."

At this, Petra's heart swells, and she touches her chest to feel it beating quickly. "Still, I have gratitude. And I have great happiness that it was you who came to my aid. My heart…" She closes her fist over it, trying to find the right words. "My heart was like stone, when I was thinking I would never see you again."

"My recovery took longer than I had hoped, and I had no means of sending a message to Brigid," says Dedue, bowing his head briefly. "Even had I been able to do so, I could not afford to write to anyone of my safety. My survival was a matter of the utmost secrecy, in the hopes of catching the Empire off-guard." He hesitates, and Petra reads in his face that he is thinking carefully. "But, had it been possible… I would have alerted you."

Even the fact that Dedue considered such a thing makes Petra feel warmer than the fire. He is truly considerate. "I have forgiveness," she says, and then more tentatively, "But I had many tears for you."

Dedue turns his head to look at Petra again, his eyes searching. "You cried for me?"

"Should I not weep for the death of a friend?"

Petra expects Dedue to say that he is a man of Duscur, and expects to have to remind him that she is a woman of Brigid, but he only looks at her for a long while. It is not the same feeling she gets when the Professor looks at her, like he is seeing through to her weaknesses, but rather that he is seeing through to her heart. (It quickens under his observation.)

"I missed you as well." Dedue says it like he might say any other fact, a simple truth of which he is unashamed, and Petra's eyes well up. It is a simple admission, but not one many others have likely heard from him before. It makes her remember the last five years, and the last few months—how she missed him even before she thought he was gone, and then all the more acutely after she heard the news.

"Daily, I was asking the spirits of Brigid to send you back to me," says Petra, trying to conceal how close she is to tears, but her voice catches and betrays her.

For a time, Dedue's eyes burn into Petra, but then he gives a light sigh. "Had I died, they could not have done so."

Petra shakes her head, keeping her gaze fixed on the fire. "Our lives are intertwined with all things. After death, the body becomes the earth, and the soul becomes all else belonging to nature. I was looking for you in other forms." She braves a smile. "But the spirits of Brigid were not sending you to me as wind or flower. The gods of Duscur were sending you to me, alive."

"Even I do not pray to the gods of Duscur any longer," says Dedue, his voice low. "It was my brethren, not the gods, that intervened to save my life."

"Then I have gladness and gratitude that they did," says Petra, clasping her hands and giving her sincerest thanks to the warriors who rescued him. "But… that our paths cross now… that is not coincidence. I do not have knowledge of the gods of Duscur, but I gave them prayers before we came to this place."

Though Petra has likely seen Dedue surprised more often than most, she has never seen him so openly taken aback. He stares at her awhile, looking like he wants to ask her something, but says only, "I am glad they heard you."

As Dedue turns once more to regard the flames, his expression softer than usual, Petra dares to keep her eyes on him. Again, her eyes catch on his scars, illuminated by firelight, and Petra finds herself scooting slightly closer to observe them. Dedue must see her, but he does not so much as shift in place, and that gives her the courage to sit next to him properly.

Now, she is not considering how his experiences have aged him, but the scars themselves. Of all the long-ago cuts on his face—Petra wonders how many others lie beneath his clothing—her gaze is drawn to one on the corner of his mouth. Recalling her own experiences with the occasional split lip, he must have had to keep his still for weeks in order for it to heal.

"Do they have pain?" asks Petra before she can stop herself, and Dedue frowns in confusion. Petra blushes; she had not meant to speak aloud. "Your injuries."

Dedue's expression lightens again, and he shakes his head. "Not anymore."

Petra relaxes slightly, her eyes roving over the paler marks stretching across his skin. Mouth, cheek, forehead, chin… did he earn all his scars in the same battle that almost killed him, or has he been in skirmishes since? He must have encountered either fearsome or cowardly opponents, to suffer so many injuries.

"What are you doing?"

Only as Dedue speaks does Petra realize that she has raised her hand as if to touch the scar on his cheek, and snatches it back. "I am sorrow," says Petra, mixing up her words in her haste. Dedue's eyes follow the motion, and his fingers twitch as though meaning to touch her too, but he does not move. "Sorry," she amends, as she remembers the more customary word, and fidgets with her necklace. "I—I was wanting to make sure that you are truly here."

To Petra's astonishment, Dedue's only response is a smile.

She sits in awe of the sight, at least in the instant before the image blurs, and she finds herself crying.

It has been a long time since Petra has allowed herself to weep openly—the last time that comes to mind is upon returning to her homeland, five years ago—and she cannot remember the last time she did so in front of anyone else. But it seems that all her grief and relief has crashed down on her at once, so that the only way she can respond to the overwhelming tide of emotion is through tears.

There is a long enough pause that Petra fears what Dedue must think of her, but then she feels a strong arm curl around her, and she weakens all at once. Burying her face in his tunic, she embraces him as best she can and _sobs_. His musculature is such that she can scarcely fit her arms around him comfortably, but it doesn't matter. All that matters is that Dedue is here and alive and not a ghost or spirit or dream.

Slowly, the beat of his heart and the rhythm of his breathing soothe Petra like a lullaby, reminding her that though many have fallen, Dedue is not among them. In the part of her mind that is not overwhelmed, she feels guilty for how easily her heart justifies other losses, how quickly she clings to him as a distraction from the deaths of former allies. But she cannot help that any more than she can help her tears.

Eventually, Petra realizes that her breaths have evened, and wonders dimly how long she has spent like this. She's too exhausted to be as self-conscious as she was at first, though she undoubtedly has much more to be ashamed of now, as Dedue has a wet splotch over his heart. At least it should dry quickly, before the fire. "I—sorry," says Petra, wishing she could blow her nose, but she has embarrassed herself enough.

"It's all right," says Dedue, and his voice sounds so gentle that Petra has no choice but to believe him. "I am here, and I intend to stay that way. His Highness told me not to take such a risk again." He moves his hand toward Petra, palm up, and she grasps it in both of her own, trembling so much that she cannot even hold it, and brings it with her to rest in her lap instead. "This will not be repeated."

"Good," says Petra, all she can think of to say anymore. "I have gratitude. And sorrow."

"You need not have either," says Dedue, and looks down at Petra. She avoids his gaze, not wishing to be observed so closely when she is flushed and sniffling and glassy-eyed from crying. "I am… touched… that you feel so strongly. I never thought I would see the day when anyone would weep for a man of Duscur."

That irks Petra in a way she does not entirely understand, and she looks up at Dedue. "I am not weeping for 'a man of Duscur'," she says, frowning even though it makes her head hurt. "I am weeping for Dedue, my friend and comrade. I have much care for you, and your death… the death that was not, it gave me great pain. And your life…" She relaxes her brows, giving a wan smile. "Your aliveness, it gives me great joy. My eyes are still crying, but my heart is feeling lighter."

Dedue smiles again. It's a small smile to match Petra's own, but a genuine one, as real as the rest of him. Petra's heart aches again, but it is a happier pain this time, as though it has expanded too quickly. She dares to lean her head against Dedue's chest, realizing that he has not moved his arm from around her, and squeezes his hand with both her own.

There is silence again, but comfortable enough that Petra finds herself dozing off out of fatigue… until Dedue's voice reaches her ears. "It has been a long day," he murmurs, and she stirs, glancing up at him. "You should retire."

Petra shakes her head, releasing Dedue's hand and instead wrapping both her arms around his torso again, the part of her that governs inhibitions no longer awake. She does not wish to leave him, now that he has returned. "I will stay if you are staying, and go if you will go."

"Very well," says Dedue, and Petra rests her head on his chest again, satisfied. "I wish to stay a while longer." Though he does not say anything more, Petra thinks she hears a silent _with you_ at the end, and smiles faintly. It is good to have him back.

(Petra does not remember drifting off, but she must have at some point, because she feels that some time has passed before she surfaces again. She dimly recognizes that she is being effortlessly lifted and carried, but does not fully wake before she is lain down on her cot, tucked tenderly between the folds of her blanket, and left to dream of togetherness.)


End file.
